


the undone and the divine

by artanogon



Category: The Brotherband Chronicles - John Flanagan
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Homoerotic Massage Scene, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, hal has a praise kink that gets mentioned a few times, it’s not “explicit” but ao3 apparently likes to not have tags like “vague sexual content”, short fic, yes I stole that tag from ‘in another life’
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artanogon/pseuds/artanogon
Summary: Hal and Stig, in a simple moment together.
Relationships: Hal Mikkelson/Stig Olafson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	the undone and the divine

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i wrote smut for this fandom. yes, i am slightly ashamed. no, i am not apologising. 
> 
> (title from “bedroom hymns” by florence + the machine)

Hal groaned and flopped onto his and Stig’s bed, letting out a long sigh. “Everything hurts.”

The Heron crew had spent the day down at the docks, fixing the broken and torn planks on the Heron and replacing her snapped mast after a rather disastrous battle with a pirate force. Then they had to test her for seaworthiness and haul her over on her side to fix broken planks on the bottom. With the heavy lifting and tests, it was backbreaking work, even with a lighter ship like the Heron. 

Stig nodded, hanging up his coat on the hall hanger. It was colder outside now, the weather moving into early winter. Fortunately, it was warm inside the house, where everything was kept heated by the thick walls and the fire. “I know what you mean.”

“Mmm. At least you’re built for it. I’m not.”

“You like the way I’m built, though.” Stig grinned at him, joining him on the bed. Their room was simple but comfortable, and it was nice to come home to a house of their own at the end of the day. Plus, they didn’t have to worry about nosy mothers or friends with no sense of privacy. 

Hal looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I won’t argue with that.” He moved back into a sitting position and ran his hand down the muscles of Stig’s arm. A smile tugged at his lips. “I won’t argue at all.” The look on his face was familiar, teasing and always preemptive to some mischief of his. Stig, however, had another idea. 

“Come here,” he said, and tugged Hal close, pulling him onto his lap. Hal gave a small, indignant squawk, then laughed and leaned back against Stig’s chest. Stig wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, blew a gentle gust of air into Hal’s ear and chuckled at the startled jump Hal gave. Hal sighed, then gave him a fond smile and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Where does it hurt the worst?” Stig asked. Hal gave him a confused look, then seemed to realise what he meant. 

“It’s not that bad. Shoulders, mostly.” He paused, embarrassment written on his face. “I was really just complaining for the sake of complaining.”

“I know,” Stig said cheerfully, but reached up to rest his hands on Hal’s shoulders. “Here. I’ll massage them. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Hal leaned forwards slightly and Stig set to massaging his shoulders, a repeated ritual he’d done a thousand times before, even before they’d started dating. He worked the knots out with dexterous fingers, soothing the tension from his boyfriend’s posture. Hal gave short gasps at the tenser areas, a quiet groan at a sore spot, and slowly closed his eyes. It was almost hard for Stig to breathe.

Stig dug the pads of his fingers into the sore muscles at the base of Hal’s neck and Hal jerked in surprise, gasping in surprise. “Fucking hell, Stig—”

“Sorry,” Stig said, equal parts unapologetic and aroused. 

Hal glared at him, but seemed to soften and smiled again. “I hardly think that’s helping  _ release  _ tension.”

“I can think of other ways to help release some of that tension.” Stig wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis and nearly burst out laughing at the look on Hal’s face. “Joking, joking. You alright, darling?”

Hal gaped a bit at the words, then quickly closed his mouth and nodded. When he spoke, his voice fractured slightly. “I— yeah. Yes, I’m… fine.”

For a couple of minutes, all was quiet between them as Stig kept working the tension from Hal’s shoulders and upper back, caught up in his own thoughts. He wondered if the nickname had made Hal uncomfortable. But he hadn’t seemed uncomfortable, he had seemed… almost like he enjoyed it.

He knew Hal liked being praised—  _ really _ liked it, in fact. Stig knew a thousand things about him, how he liked to be touched and when and how teasing came naturally to him, but he’d noticed something else recently. How he’d absentmindedly called Hal “dear” and Hal had nearly dropped what he was carrying. And then, the other day, when he’d been in a teasing mood himself and asked Hal, “what are your orders, skirl?”

Hal had gone bright red. Stig still remembered it viscerally. 

Finally, he stopped, slid his hands down Hal’s arms and nestled his face into the side of Hal’s neck. “Better?”

“Better,” Hal agreed, knocking his head against Stig’s gently. “You’re really good at that. I might just enlist you to be my personal massage therapist from now on.”

“A new role on the ship?”

Hal laughed quietly. “Perhaps.”

“If that’s what you want,” Stig joked, and then decided to test the waters and see if he was right. He had another idea in mind, and he may as well act on it. “My skirl.”

The effect was immediate. Hal froze under his hands and then gave a quiet whimper, almost a whine. Stig flushed at the sound and looked down at his boyfriend in near disbelief. Hal was blushing, and when he noticed Stig looking down at him, he bit his lip and looked away. Stig swallowed hard. Always the damn lip-biting. 

He could feel every nerve in his body, burning desire curling in his chest at the sound. “Did… did you just make that noise?”

Hal’s blush intensified and he looked about ready to crawl away and hide somewhere. He made some vague noise, gesturing into the air and failing to actually say any words. Fond warmth joined the heat in Stig’s chest, and he smiled a bit. “Because I wouldn’t mind using the nickname. If you enjoy it, of course,  _ my skirl. _ ”

“Gods,” Hal half-moaned, dropping his head into his hands. “How the  _ hell _ —”

Stig was somewhere between shocked and gleeful. “So you’re… into that?”

“I… I guess?” Hal’s voice cracked on the words and he gestured helplessly, his face aflame. 

Stig grinned despite himself and leaned down to kiss Hal’s neck, soft and gentle and just enough to make his boyfriend shiver. “My skirl,” he whispered and didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath Hal gave. “My beautiful, brilliant skirl.”

Hal dropped his head back against Stig’s shoulder, baring the curve of his throat with a quiet, wanton noise. Stig couldn’t help but watch him, entranced. It was always these things— the feel of Hal in his lap and Hal under his hands, the noises he made (they’d kept him up at night before), the beauty of his dark hair and bronze skin and piercing eyes, the way his smile felt against Stig’s mouth. The things that made him long, even when he had Hal. It was like falling for a god, so wonderful it seemed unbelievable. And yet, there was a flawed and beautiful in itself about him. Not perfect, not really, but he may as well have been. 

Half-deliberate, half out of habit, he moved one of his hands down from Hal’s shoulders and began to trace his thumb around Hal’s knee, little strokes that slowly turned slower, more sweeping, moving up his leg and skimming the inside of his thigh. Before long, the motions became absentminded as Stig kissed Hal’s neck again. “Is this alright?”

Hal nodded, sounding slightly breathless. “Gods, Stig, it’s— it’s so much better than alright. I swear— first the compliments, now this— you’re going to kill me.”

“I can think of something I’d rather do to you instead,” Stig murmured, hushed, and brushed his lips against Hal’s earlobe. He kept tracing easy circles along Hal’s leg, gentle and teasing as Hal leaned back against him. The air between them was thick with a sort of tense anticipation, quiet and heated and heavy in dim lighting. Stig felt Hal relax more, shift against him until they were pressed together, sparks in every place they touched. He swallowed hard, every breath and heartbeat loud enough that they seemed to echo in the room. 

He brushed his thumb higher, a sweeping stroke along the upper inside of Hal’s thigh—

To find Hal hard against his hand. 

The lazy teasing feeling from before vanished in an instant, replaced by a rush of something heady and intoxicating, adrenaline jolting him keenly awake. Stig moved his hand up further, resting against Hal’s crotch, and he felt as well as heard Hal moan, the vibration travelling from where Hal’s back was pressed to his chest. 

“Tell me to stop if—”

“I don’t want you to,” Hal cut in, breathing uneven like he had been running long and fast. He gripped Stig’s thigh tightly, dragging his hand up and sending sparks through Stig’s blood. “Do you want me to…”

Stig dropped his mouth to Hal’s shoulder, nipped softly with his teeth as he undid the ties on Hal’s breeches. “Not yet. Let me do this?”

_ “Yes,” _ Hal breathed, and turned his head to where Stig could lean forward and kiss him. He slipped his hand inside Hal’s breeches, took Hal in hand as Hal kissed him desperately. Hal bit hard at his lip, broke away as Stig gripped him tighter. “ _ Fuck _ , Stig.”

Hal shifted back in Stig’s lap, heat and friction and fire at every place they touched but never enough, some part of him always wanting  _ more.  _ Hal ground back against Stig’s own hardness, a smirk touching his lips even as he moaned again and Stig half-hissed, half-laughed, the sound low and thick in his throat. “You’re never just content, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” said Hal, and there was some wicked glint in his eyes. “My first mate.”

The term sent a jolt down Stig’s spine, like hot lightning that pooled low in his stomach and set him to flame. He pulled Hal flush against him, kissed him hard. It wasn’t fair sometimes, the way that Hal could undo him with so few words, how he was beautiful and crafty and brilliant all at once. He broke away, leaned his forehead against Hal’s shoulder, quickened the twist of his hand and was rewarded by a set of sharp gasps. “Friha, Hal, you have no idea what you do to me. I love this— I love you, you’re so good—”

Hal gave a choked moan, his pupils blown wide and his eyes dark amber, and dragged Stig into a kiss with shaking hands. Stig grasped him tight and Hal came apart with a muffled whimper, pressing them close as he could as he shuddered through his orgasm.

He let out a low gasp as he pulled back from Stig’s mouth, collapsing bonelessly against Stig’s shoulder, like a limp rag in the aftermath of the pleasure being wrung out of him. They stayed there in silence for a moment. Hal’s eyes had fallen closed, his mouth swollen from kisses, and Stig watched him in awe. He was gorgeous, sated and flushed in this intimacy that was theirs. Only he knew Hal like this, and there was an odd tenderness in that concept. 

Stig was startled from his thoughts as Hal shifted in his lap, turning to straddle his hips. A crafty smile curved his lips and he leaned forward, winding his hands in Stig’s hair. Something like lust simmered in his eyes. “I think it’s your turn now.”


End file.
